All of us are still reeling from the news of this week’s tragic fire that destroyed historic buildings, caused the death of several pets, and left 29 people homeless in our beloved village.
Churches and community agencies have all been quick to respond to this disaster, but special praise goes to our friends and neighbors at the Boonville Methodist Church and the quick-minded leadership of their new minister, Rev. Robert Dean. Since the early hours of the fire, Rev. Dean made the church available as a command and resource center for survivors. Donations of clothes, supplies, and gift cards have been generously pouring in from the community.
Taking a much-needed rest after almost two days of working around the clock, Rev. Dean and his family attended our Good Friday service. Immediately after that service ended, my first words to him were, “What do you need from us?” His first word back to me was, “Manpower.”
The most pressing need at the moment is for able hands to sort out donated clothes for distribution. Families are continuing to come by the church daily for aid. Volunteers have been assisting as they are able. If any of you have time in the coming days and weeks, please lend a hand to the recovery effort at Boonville Methodist Church. The building opens most days at 9:30am and closes at 5pm.
The word on the street is that the Boonville Chamber of Commerce will be setting up a special bank account next week to receive monetary donations on behalf of fire victims. The American Red Cross has also set up operations in the village for helping those in need. Contributions to that organization are always welcome.
Rev. Dean and I have also recognized the need for crisis counseling to be made available to these residents. Together, we are currently trying to organize a network of local clergy for on-site support and are seeking to enlist the more qualified assistance of professional crisis counselors from other community service agencies.
Moments like these are when we get to show the world what we are made of. May the Light of Christ rise up in us this Easter and shine hope into the darkness of despair! May it be so. Amen.
The eyes of the nation have been on Central New York this week as Kurt Myers ripped through the villages of Mohawk and Herkimer (a half hour drive from my house) with a shotgun, killing four and wounding two, plus killing one police dog. Lydia Dittrich, one of my newest congregants at Boonville Presbyterian, had this to say on Facebook:
I am probably going to be throwing gasoline on sparks here but I just have to say……
I am saddened and distraught at the loss of 4 lives today here in Central New York. My heart goes out to everyone affected by this, from the families left behind, to the parents anguishing over their children’s safety at school, to the law enforcement officers who wake up with a job to do praying today is not that day.
It is a difficult thing when tragedy hits you where you live. It makes fear surge to the front of all other emotions. Adrenaline surges and the defensive response of “I will do whatever it takes to protect what is mine” kicks into high gear. You want to do nothing more than hole up with your family and count each hair on their head until the storm passes. Next comes the wave of community reaction, outcry and grief at the loss of life in their back yard.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross is the definitive work on Grieving. There are five stages that each of us will go through as we begin to process and absorb the events of today’s attack in Herkimer NY. Denial (I can’t believe this is happening where I live), Anger (that sonofabitch ought to burn in hell for this), Bargaining (If only we could get those beloved people back, If only we could have prevented this–I would do anything), Despair (there is nothing I can do, and we failed) and Acceptance (it is terrible that tragedy has found us, but we are a community and we will come back stronger from this than ever before).
We all have different views on how the government and our communities will respond to this tragedy politically. Another strong reason for every person that can vote SHOULD vote…every election, every time.
My only request to my Facebook friends and family is that we accept each others’ points of view with grace on this topic. We don’t have to agree on it (how boring would life be if we did?) but the real crime in this tragedy will be the resulting social schism this senseless violence leaves behind if we stoop to word wars and status updates blasting the NRA, the government, our nations mental health system, the VA or any other entity that might be involved. Be KIND TO EACH OTHER and remember that everyone will respond to this in their own way, in their own time. Simply because we may disagree politically, does NOT mean it is worth hurting a friend that is still here.
To borrow my pastor’s favorite closing (thank you J. Barrett Lee)
I love you all, God loves you all, and there is NOTHING you can do about it. Be blessed, and be a blessing.
This community is going to need it.
Lydia and her family will be formally joining our church on Easter.
Rembrandt, The Return of the Prodigal Son (c.1663-1665). Image retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.
The last one hundred and fifty years or so have borne witness to more technological and scientific advances than any other equivalent period of time in human history. From industry to the internet, from the first powered flight at Kitty Hawk to the first moon landing at Tranquility Base, from outer space to cyberspace, we have traveled farther, communicated faster, and dug deeper into the mysteries of the universe than previous generations could have dreamed possible.
In all this time, perhaps the greatest mystery we have encountered is the mystery of each other. Without a second thought, I can pull a hand-held device out of my pocket and initiate an instantaneous conversation with someone on the opposite side of the planet. Compare this ability to explorers like Magellan, whose trip around the globe cost him his life, four out of five ships, and all but 18 of his 270 crew members. Compare it to the life of the average peasant in medieval Europe, who would likely never travel more than 5 miles away from the spot where he was born. Our experience of the world in the early 21st century is so much more connected and cosmopolitan than our ancestors thought possible.
But it hasn’t been an entirely utopian experience, of course. This heightened interconnectivity has brought us into contact with people very different from ourselves. These people talk, dress, think, and worship very differently than we do. Our knowledge of the world has given rise to more questions. The most vexing of these questions have to do with religion. Once the average person became aware of so many different religions on this planet, and especially once they began living next door to people who practice these religions, how are we supposed to make sense of such diversity? With so many varieties of belief and so many opinions about the ultimate nature of reality, surely someone has to be right while everyone else is wrong, right?
These questions have sparked an ongoing debate about who God is and what God wants that has lasted to this day. It seems like there’s always some nut-case out there who is more than willing to stand up on national television and claim with unwavering certainty to have the one and only right answer about what God’s will is. Too many people, longing for something to hold onto in these confusing times, are only too willing to buy into such easy answers. As we have seen, time and again, these peddlers of snake-oil and easy answers can make their followers say and do the unthinkable. In exchange for absolute certainty about the will of God, people are willing to hand over the money in their bank accounts, cut off relations to friends and family, and even fly airplanes into buildings. The philosopher Voltaire said, “Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” I like to pray a prayer I once saw on a bumper-sticker: “Lord, protect me from your followers!”
In these times of complication and confusion, the promise of absolute certainty feels like a virtue but turns out to be a vice. As it turns out, the way we hold our questions with our values is far more important than the answers we come up with.
In Jesus’ time, there was a group of people who claimed to have all the answers. They were the Pharisees. Erudite scholars of the Torah, these well-respected citizens seemed to possess a monopoly on the truth market. Their rabbis fielded questions of theology and ethics so well that they established themselves as defenders of the faith and guardians of family values. Theirs was a world of black and white easy answers. Faith and certainty went hand in hand with no room for mystery, doubt, or mercy.
You can imagine then that when Jesus came along, he really messed with their worldview. We read in the opening verses of this morning’s gospel passage that Jesus was eating with tax collectors and sinners. The Pharisees were quite offended by this gesture, since eating with someone in that time and culture implied that you accepted that person just as he or she was. From their point of view, Jesus was sending the wrong kind of message for an upstanding citizen and an acclaimed rabbi. In response to their offended sensibilities, Jesus told them a story. It’s the famous story we now know as the parable of the prodigal son.
The story begins with a fictional man with two sons. One day, the younger of the two decides that he doesn’t want to sit around and wait for his father to die before collecting on his inheritance. He asks for it ahead of schedule. Basically, this move was his way of saying to his dad, “You’re dead to me.” And his father, in spite of what must have been immense heartbreak over this rejection, acquiesces to his younger son’s demand.
The next thing we learn is that this son takes his share of the estate and burns out on the party scene of some far-away city. But when the good times stop rolling, the son is hard-up for cash. He ends up taking the most disgusting job possible for a young Jewish person: feeding pigs. He was do hungry that even the hog-slop was starting to look and smell pretty good to him.
Finally, in a moment of desperation and clarity, the son selfishly cooks up a half-decent apology in order to get himself back into more stable living conditions. And then he makes his way back home with his tail between his legs. He wasn’t really sorry, mind you, he was just miserable enough that he would do anything, put up with any amount of humiliation, if it meant a warm bed and three square meals a day.
This is where the story gets really interesting. Jesus says, “…while [the son] was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.” Taken aback by this enthusiastic greeting, the son nevertheless begins his feigned apology speech, but his father never lets him finish. He cuts him off by calling for his servants to bring a robe, a ring, and sandals. He kills the fattened calf and prepares a celebration feast. In this moment, we get a clear picture of this father’s true nature as a man overflowing with love and generosity for his children.
Most tellings of the story end here, with the prodigal son’s redemption via forgiveness. But that’s not where Jesus ends the story. He keeps going.
Enter the older brother, the father’s firstborn son. He has been the dutiful heir to the estate. He has his stuff together, so to speak. He has always done everything right. But he’s not the hero of this story, not by a long shot.
It turns out that this older brother, in his quest to be the perfect son, has severely misjudged the kind of person his father is. When he sees the welcome that his younger brother receives, the older brother gets angry and shouts at his father, “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.” He thinks his father is a cranky old miser who demands absolute obedience without question. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
Jesus’ cautionary tale about the older brother is a biting indictment of the leaders of the religious establishment in his day. Like the older brother in the story, their devotion to certainty and obedience has led them to believe that their God is just as judgmental and small-minded as they are.
On the other hand, it is the tax collectors and sinners around Jesus, no strangers to imperfection and doubt, who have the keenest insight on the nature of reality. Through Jesus’ acceptance of them as they are, warts and all, they are coming to have faith in the power of grace.
What is grace? Well, a theological dictionary would define grace as “unmerited favor” but here’s my favorite definition of grace: God loves you and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Sound familiar? It should. It’s how we end our sermons here every week.
But more than that, grace is one of the central religious values of our Presbyterian heritage. In the 16th century, when established religious authorities once used guilt and fear to manipulate and control the people, the Reformers countered that there is nothing a person can do to garner favor with God. Grace is a given. It is God’s basic orientation toward human beings. All we have to do is decide how we’re going to respond to it.
Will we, like the older brother and the Pharisees, storm off in a huff over the scandalous nature of grace? Or will we, like the younger brother and the sinners, open our hearts to this undeserved love? Will we allow it to transform us from the inside out, until we start to look like Jesus?
When I look around our world in the 21st century, I see a planet in desperate need of grace. We’ve had more than enough of pompous, self-righteous fanatics who claim to hold all the right answers to life, the universe, and everything. What we need now is a deep, abiding faith in the mystery of grace.
We need imperfect people, full of doubts and faults, whose lives have nevertheless been touched by the knowledge that they are loved, no matter what. Such people know how to love in return. Theirs is the only message that can successfully defend against the attacks of judgmentalism, fundamentalism, and terrorism.
Their scandalous message of grace, never popular or pragmatic, applies equally to liberals as well as conservatives, Muslims as well as Christians, North Koreans as well as North Americans. Grace is the great equalizer. Grace is the central value by which we know that we can never out-stay our welcome in the kingdom of God, and it is the enlivening force that empowers us to go out from this church this morning, saying to one another (and to the whole world):
“I love you, God loves you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Hidden in the annals of Christian history are stories we’d rather not tell.
The Church of Christ has not always done well at emulating the life and love of its Lord and Savior. As a matter of fact, we’ve been downright evil for much of the time. One need only mention the Crusades or the Salem Witch Trials to get an idea of what I’m talking about. One such example comes from the very roots of our own Presbyterian tradition:
Back in the 1500s, when John Calvin was preaching in the Swiss city of Geneva, a guy named Michael Servetus blew into town. He was on the run from the Catholic Church after being arrested for heresy and then breaking out of prison. Servetus was a Unitarian, meaning that he did not believe in the doctrine of the Trinity: the belief in one God, consisting of three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
The fugitive Servetus made a bad choice in putting Geneva on his travel itinerary. John Calvin, whose opinions had a powerful influence on city politics, had no more love for Servetus than the Catholic authorities had. Calvin himself had previously written to a friend, “If [Servetus] comes here… I will never permit him to depart alive.” And Calvin made good on his threat. As soon as someone recognized Servetus attending worship at Calvin’s church, he was arrested, tried, and burned at the stake for heresy. Michael Servetus’ last recorded words were, “Jesus, Son of the Eternal God, have mercy on me.”
This is part of the dark side of Presbyterian history. John Calvin is still remembered as the founder of the Reformed Tradition, of which the Presbyterian Church is a part. In 1903, Calvin’s spiritual heirs in the city of Geneva erected a monument to the memory of Michael Servetus on the spot where he was burned. The inscription on that monument condemns Calvin’s error and acknowledges that the true spirit of the Reformation can only exist where liberty of conscience is allowed to flourish.
It’s too little, too late for Servetus, but the gesture acknowledges that we’ve at least made a little progress in half a millennium.
In so many of these cases of heresy trials and stake burnings, there is an oft-repeated label that has been misappropriated from the New Testament and applied to the opponents of established orthodoxy. That label is: “Enemies of the cross of Christ”.
You might have noticed that very phrase appearing in this morning’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians. Paul wrote, “[M]any live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.”
And just who are these “enemies”? Paul is not clear on that. At various points in church history, this term has been applied to Protestants, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Pagans, Unitarians, and basically anyone else who’s theological views differ from the person applying the label at the time. “Enemies of the cross of Christ” is a derogatory epithet used to identify others as “outsiders” and “heretics”. Most of the time, it has been applied to emphasize doctrinal differences between religious groups.
I believe that such use of this phrase does violence to its original meaning in Paul’s letter to the Philippians. You see, in that letter, Paul never suggests that one’s religious affiliation or theological orientation are determinant of one’s status as an enemy of the cross of Christ. For Paul, the truth goes much deeper than that: so deep, I would say, that the essence of this message can be found in the spiritual teachings of every mystic and every sage in every culture, every place, and every period of history. Paul’s message of the cross is the story of people graduating from their small, self-centered lives to the larger, reality-centered Life. Some have called it conversion, some salvation, some liberation, and some enlightenment. For Paul, as for most Christians, the central symbol for this process of transformation is the cross of Christ.
The cross is the single most recognizable Christian symbol in the world. Historically speaking, it was of course the instrument of torture and execution on which Jesus was killed. Symbolically speaking, Christians have attached multiple levels of meaning to its significance. Starting about a thousand years ago, a full millennium after Jesus was born, a British writer named Anselm of Canterbury came up with the idea that theologians now call “substitutionary atonement”. You might not have heard that phrase before, but you probably have heard some preacher on the radio or television saying, “Jesus died for your sins.” Substitutionary atonement is currently the most commonly known and accepted interpretation of the significance of the Jesus’ crucifixion, but the idea is only about half as old as Christianity itself.
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul presents an entirely different understanding of the cross. For Paul, the crucifixion event cannot be understood apart from the story of Christ’s resurrection. According to Paul, these two events form a unified whole. Neither one makes any sense without the other.
The crucifixion and resurrection, taken together, form the central image of the Christian spiritual journey. In the process of transitioning from a self-centered to a reality-centered life, every Christian must undergo a kind of death and resurrection. As Paul himself wrote elsewhere, in his letter to the Galatians, “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me.” Earlier in his letter to the Philippians, he writes in a similar vein:
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
In this early Christian hymn, Paul lays out the path of self-emptying, the path of the cross, which leads to resurrection and exaltation by God. And this, he says, is not only the journey of Jesus himself, but also of every Christian who claims to bear his name. Paul begins his hymn with the exhortation: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus”.
A Christian then, in Paul’s eyes, is one who walks the path of the cross, who dies to the old, self-centered life and rises to the new, reality-centered Life. One could say that a Christian is a “friend of the cross of Christ”.
By contrast, those who are “enemies of the cross of Christ” are those who refuse to walk this path of metaphorical crucifixion and resurrection. The Buddha might call them “unenlightened”. Muhammad might call them “infidels”. Harry Potter would probably call them “muggles”.
What can we learn about these “enemies of the cross of Christ”? Well, since this status has more to do with one’s way of life than with one’s religious affiliation, I think we can say that they might belong to any tradition or no tradition at all. We’re just as likely to find them in pews as in bars.
Here’s what Paul has to say about them: “Their end is destruction; their god is the belly”. This is an interesting way of putting it. When Paul says, “their god is the belly” he obviously doesn’t mean their physical abdomens. The belly is where one’s food goes after it is consumed. The belly, in this sense, is the seat of desire. The people who refuse to let go of their small, self-centered lives are worshiping their own desires and addictions. What they want/need is most important to them.
For them, the primary concern is “my food, my money, my country, my church.” Everything is all about I, me, my. There is no big picture or larger context in which they see their lives. That which benefits them is universally good. That which hinders them is universally bad. In every story, these folks never fail to cast themselves as either the heroes or the victims. They’re always on the side of right. They have all the answers. Anyone who disagrees with them is a heretic who deserves to be burned at the stake. This is what self-centered worship looks like. These folks are what Paul refers to as “enemies of the cross of Christ.” There is no self-sacrifice for them. There is no denial of desire for the greater good. There is no responsibility beyond one’s responsibility to one’s own self. Self-centered existence.
What is the end result of this way of life? Paul says it quite clearly: “Their end is destruction”. This self-centered way of thinking and living can only lead to pain and death. This is not some mysterious, mystical idea. Think about it: what kind of world would this be if neighbors never went out of their way to help each other? What if friends and family never forgave each other? What if no one answered the call of charity or the obligation of justice for those who suffer? I don’t know about you, but that’s not a world I would want to live in. That selfish mentality can only lead to destruction, as Paul warns us.
The way of the cross is the way of sacrifice. Jesus could have called upon his mass of followers to rise up and fight if he so desired. Instead, he chose to walk the path of nonviolence. He chose to suffer pain, rather than cause it. He chose to die, rather than kill to protect what was rightfully his. In so doing, Jesus set himself apart from every other revolutionary movement leader of his time. His selfless sacrifice did not go unnoticed or unremembered. He left his followers with a symbol and an image that would change the way they look at the world.
Christ’s willing submission to crucifixion, according to Paul, is the basis for his sovereignty over all creation. For his followers, it is the model we follow for living our lives in the world. The end-result of crucifixion is not death, but resurrection. “Humiliation”, according to Paul, is transformed into “glory”. Followers of the way of Christ must befriend the cross because it is the only way into the “abundant life” that Jesus intended for us to have.
Paul’s warning about the “enemies of the cross of Christ” is not a wholesale condemnation of those who hold different theological views from Paul’s, or John Calvin’s, or mine. Paul’s warning applies to all of us, no matter what religion we espouse. With tears, Paul is pleading with us to realize that our little lives, ruled by our own selfish desires and preferences, lead only to destruction.
The flip side of Paul’s warning is that those who befriend the cross, who walk the path of self-sacrifice for the greater good, like Jesus did, are sure to receive resurrection, salvation, and enlightenment. These are the true saints, the blessed ones who discover the meaning of life. These are the real Christians: the friends of the cross of Christ.
May it be so for you, for me, and for all who seek the greater good, the life abundant, in the name (or the spirit) of Jesus Christ.
The past twelve months have been amazing for me on this blog. I’ve had two separate posts go semi-viral and catch the attention of some of the biggest movers and shakers in my denomination. Many of you have emailed me (and a few have even called) with encouraging words about what this blog means to you. Your words have kept me writing when I otherwise wanted to quit. Thank you.
I’ve come to see what I do here as part of my larger ministry in the world, no less significant than what I do from the pulpit on Sunday or in my classroom during the week. I have been especially touched by the messages left by those who self-identify as exiled or de-churched Christians. I hope that my presence in your life via this blog is part of your healing from the wounds of the past.
As social media occupy an increasingly central place in my life, I think it is imperative that I learn how to integrate them into my life in a harmonious and holistic way. Many others have voiced concerns about the effect that these media are having on our ability to communicate with one another. Our technology has outpaced our ethics. We need to occasionally step back and take stock of where it is that technology has brought us, how it is that we got here, and what it is that we want to do next.
I have noticed this technological imbalance in my own life. Whether I am at work or play, I spend most of my time in front of TV and computer screens. Things that need doing sometimes don’t get done because there’s just “one more thing” I want to watch or do online.
The liturgical season of Lent is, for me, a time for self-reflection and restoring the balance of life. During these next 40 days, I’ve decided to unplug from electronic entertainment and social media. I’ll be updating my blog with my weekly sermons and checking Facebook on Sundays (which don’t count as part of Lent). I’m also allowing myself to watch one half-hour TV show on Sundays because I don’t want to fall too far behind on the final season of The Office.
Other than that, you can find me reading a book, tuning my guitar, playing with my kids, and (believe it or not) cleaning my house. I hope to use this time to reflect on my relationship with technology and social media. I hope to return with a greater sense of clarity about what this technology is for and how it is that I wish to conduct myself in its virtual environment.
I’m not going totally off-grid, though: I’ll be checking email for professional purposes and answering the phone. If you need to talk to me for personal reasons, feel free to give me a call! I get the sense that I’ll be craving conversation.
I’ll see you again at Easter when this blog kicks back into action! Until then, make sure to check in weekly to read the sermons!
Image by Wilder Kaiser. Retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.
Believe it or not (and I know many of you won’t), I sometimes like to show up to work early. With two kids at home, those few minutes in the car are sometimes the only quiet moments I get to myself in a day.
It just so happens that last Wednesday was one of those days and, before I went into my office, I took a minute to sit in my car and watch the snow falling on my windshield. I thought about what was actually happening as each individual flake fell and melted into a droplet of water: The hardened, crystal structure of the ice was absorbing the heat radiation coming from inside my car. It was literally a transfer of energy that was making those water molecules more flexible as a liquid. Obviously, a liquid is more flexible than a solid crystal. A crystal can only break, but a liquid can bend into any shape necessary. If that energy transfer process continued, the liquid would eventually get hot enough to turn into a gas and the water vapor would simply become part of the air itself.
What struck me is that this process is an almost perfect metaphor for what happens to human beings as we grow spiritually. We begin as small, hardened, selfish crystals. We exist as solid individuals, obsessed with the uniqueness of our own crystalline structure. This is what we could call “the ego-centric life”. This is the state of being that says things like: “You’ve got to look out for number one; it’s a dog-eat-dog world; and it’s my way or the highway.”
But something happens to us as we grow older and begin to ask the “bigger questions” in life. We start to think outside the box. We meet good, decent people with political and religious worldviews different from our own. Spiritual disciplines like prayer and meditation lead us toward compassion and understanding. We humans, like snowflakes melting on a windshield, become more fluid and flexible.
I would not hesitate to say that our souls gradually absorb the divine energy of the Holy Spirit and we begin to look and act more like Jesus.
If this process were to continue, I would venture a guess that our individual egos would eventually evaporate into the atmosphere of love itself, which is God. Whether this final transformation can happen in this life or only in the next, I’m not sure, but the image is compelling.
It actually reminded me of the Transfiguration, which is the event in the life of Jesus that we traditionally recall on this last Sunday before the beginning of Lent. In this story, Jesus and his closest disciples walk up a mountain to pray and, while they are up there, Jesus begins to glow with a kind of inner, divine light.
This is not the only time something like that happens in the Bible. In the book of Exodus, Moses goes up a mountain to commune with God and comes back down with his face glowing so brightly that his fellow Israelites can’t even stand to look at it.
In his second letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul refers to this Moses story and extends the idea of “spiritual radiation” to all people who seek a deeper closeness with the Divine. Using the term “glory” to describe this “spiritual radiation”, Paul writes: “all of us, …seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another”.
Along with Christians throughout history, Paul believed that Christ revealed the fullness of divine glory to the world. As people remembered Jesus’ life, studied his teachings, and celebrated his death and resurrection, Paul believed that their lives would begin to resemble Christ’s more and more. The divine glory (i.e. “spiritual radiation”) that shone in him would gradually become visible in us.
To put it another way: we become what we behold. The more we look at Jesus, the more we look like Jesus.
Now, Paul had no way of knowing this, but he was actually picking up on insights that would one day be confirmed by scientists in the 21st century.
Dr. Andrew Newberg, a neuroscientist at the University of Pennsylvania, has described a phenomenon called neuroplasticity. What this means is: “The more you focus on something — whether that’s math or auto racing or football or God — the more that becomes your reality, the more it becomes written into the neural connections of your brain,” according to Dr. Newberg.
Dr. Newberg has spent much of his career studying the effects of prayer and meditation through the lens of neuroplasticity. He has discovered that these practices actually have a concrete, measurable effect on the way your brain functions. The more you focus on God, the more real God becomes to you.
Most of Newberg’s research has used subjects who pray or meditate for several hours a day, such as monks and nuns. But there is nothing in his research to suggest that we “ordinary folks” can’t also derive some benefit from a regular spiritual practice, even though we might only have a few minutes each day to engage in such exercises.
Like Paul, Moses, and Jesus, we too can become what we behold. As the apostle Paul said, we can “[see] the glory of the Lord” and “[be] transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” The divine light that shone through Jesus and Moses can shine through us too, in a metaphorical sense.
When I see photos of the people I most admire in recent history: Desmond Tutu, Mother Teresa, Gene Robinson, and Oscar Romero, I see faces radiant with the glory of God. I see people who have spent so much time looking at Jesus that they have started to look like Jesus.
So then, how is this process of transformation “from one degree of glory to another” available to us? The simple answer is that this process just happens within us naturally as we spend more and more time and energy cultivating our conscious awareness of God’s presence. Now, that’s a pretty abstract idea, so let me bring it down to earth: in practical terms, I think there is a lot of wisdom to be gained from those good old fashioned spiritual disciplines of Bible study and prayer.
Bible study should be a no-brainer. We can learn how to follow Jesus by reading about his life and studying his teachings. If you’ve never read the Bible on your own before, I recommend starting with one of the four gospels, like Mark or Luke. Read just a little bit every day and think about what you’re reading. Try to imagine yourself as a character in the story. Watch for any words or ideas that seem to “stand out” to you. Use your imagination. Ask yourself, “Why did this word stand out to me, in this way, at this time?”
Daily prayer is another good practice to have as well. If you’ve never prayed before, here’s a simple method for getting started: start by naming things you’re thankful for. Even if you can’t think of anything in particular, be thankful that you woke up today, thankful that the sun is shining, thankful for the air in your lungs or the food on your plate. As you go along, you might start to think of other, more specific things in your life. Next, name those people or situations you’re concerned about. You can be as general or specific as you like. Some people like to keep a list of the names of people they’re praying for. You can even pray for yourself. It’s not selfish. God knows you have needs. Disclaimer: Praying for a situation doesn’t guarantee that things will always go your way, but it does mean that you are beginning to look at yourself, your needs, your life, and your world through a different set of eyes: spiritual eyes. I once heard someone say: “Prayer changes you before it changes your circumstances.”
After you have given thanks and prayed for yourself and others, just sit for a while in silence. Be still. Close your eyes. Focus your attention on the rhythm of your breathing. This kind of wordless prayer is often called meditation or contemplative prayer. Stay with it for as long as you can, several minutes even. Personally, I like to do about twenty minutes of silent meditation per day. If that sounds overwhelming to you, try starting with just five minutes. This kind of prayer is often the most powerful of all.
Finally, I like to close my prayer time with something familiar, like the Lord’s Prayer. We say it once a week here in church, but saying it daily can help the words to sink deep down into your bones. The rhythm of the words by themselves can sometimes put you in a prayerful or spiritually attentive state of mind.
These exercises of prayer and Bible study are the two best resources I have found for helping us, as Christians, to re-center our lives on the presence of God. The more we lean on these practices, the more our lives will reflect the glory of God. As I said before: the more we look at Jesus, the more we look like Jesus. We become what we behold.
We will be like those snowflakes, falling onto the windshield of a warm car. The heat from inside the car will radiate into us, making us less cold & rigid and more warm & fluid. We’ll be able to bend, flex, and go with the flow. We’ll run together, like water droplets do. The divisions between us will become less visible. Given time near this heat source, we might even begin to evaporate and become part of the air itself: the atmosphere of God in which we live, move, and have our being.
He talks about tossing the concept of “church growth” into the garbage (where it belongs). In its place, he advocates placing “Growing in Grace”, “Growing in Love”, and “Growing in Depth”. These things, Reed says, will make for a growing church.
It’s a reflection written by a pastor in my denomination who I have come to deeply respect. On two very public occasions, she went beyond the letter of the law in order to incarnate the spirit behind it:
The first was when she officiated at the wedding of two women, even though our denomination’s polity does not yet provide for that function.
The second was when she willingly stepped down as Vice Moderator of our General Assembly, even though she had been duly nominated and elected to that position.
Tara has earned my admiration.
This is her story in her own words:
Here is the rub and the theological bankruptcy I feel I am “pastoring” in. I am not permitted to order worship and celebrate the love of God in the covenant of marriage for the same folk whom I have baptized, confirmed, served communion, and even ordained as pastors. There is a gross error in how we as pastors and congregations are then honoring the whole child of God whom we have started with in baptism.
Hopping Hadrian's Wall 